


Stay Right There

by SithHappens



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, NSFW, Smut, facial - the smutty kind, modern!Ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithHappens/pseuds/SithHappens
Summary: some modern!Ivar smut with aftercare





	Stay Right There

You knew it was coming. The sheen of sweat on his heaving chest as he sat above you, perched on the edge of his bed.  The noises he made as he licked his lips. One hand in your hair where you knelt before him, the other quickly stroking his gorgeous cock, glistening and squelching with your saliva. Your lips tingling, jaw aching from how he'd fucked your mouth with wild abandon.

 

You knew it was coming, Ivar was coming, but when the first hot ribbon of his cum splashed across your face, you still jumped a little.  Lids squeezing tight to avoid the sting of it in your eyes. The grunts and whimpers he made as he painted your face had your belly fluttering with excitement.  His hand tightened in your hair, though you had no intention of moving. Your mouth opened, tongue seeking out any stray spurts, eager to taste him. To swallow him deep.

 

Ivar rubbed his spent cock along your face for good measure, smearing himself further into your skin. Making a bigger mess of you.  And still your eyes remained closed. He allowed you to touch his bare legs this time, a sensitive spot for him for numerous reasons.  He did not care to be treated as delicate, but he never complained about your careful touches when he granted you permission. And now, you enjoyed the smooth sinewy feel of them beneath your fingers as you both tried calming yourselves.  You thought you could hear his heartbeat, or it might have been your own rushing in your ears.

 

After a few moments, his grasp loosened in your hair, fingers sliding around to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up from where it had fallen as you caught your breath.  You still could not see him, but you just knew he was admiring his handiwork. You felt overwhelmed by a sense of his pride and adoration, without having to take a single peek through the smear of his bodily fluids, his claim on you.

 

“Stay right there,” Ivar eventually spoke, the sound of his voice as authoritative as it was calming to your nerves, the raggedness in it only making you melt a little more.

 

You could hear him reach for his crutches, the tell-tale sound of them clattering together as he positioned them properly.  Then, he hoisted himself to his feet and out of your grasp. There was a time when all this started that you would have scrabbled to your feet to assist him.  But he had long since taught you to do as he says. That he is more capable than the silly assumptions you used to have. And that seeing to you properly was a task he took very seriously.

 

You couldn't say exactly how long he was gone, lost as you were in the darkness of your closed eyes.  But it was long enough the sweat began to cool on your bare skin. You could feel the texture of carpet under your knees, the stretch in your thighs and neck and shoulders.  Yet you remained where he'd left you, dutifully kneeling beside his bed upon his return. You listened intently to his approach, eager to have him with you again. 

 

There was a pause when he drew near, though you could sense his presence.  You nearly reached out for him in the stillness, neediness for him nearly overwhelming you.  Then there was movement again and you could hear him sinking back onto the mattress in front of you.  No sooner had his crutches been set aside, than your chin was in his grasp again.

 

“So beautiful, smothered in my cum,” Ivar mused quietly.  After a beat, you felt the soothing warmth of a damp washcloth on your cheek.  He made an approving noise when you relaxed into his ministrations, amusement still coloring his voice.  “But it is not your favorite, is it?”

 

You hummed in affirmation as the towel swiped carefully along your mouth and chin, so he knew you heard him.  A small smiled played at your lips when you answered. “I much prefer you coming inside me.”

 

There was a quiet snicker from him while he continued cleaning you up, careful, gentle.  And not for the first time you wondered at the stark contrast of what those hands were capable of.  But his voice interrupted your train of thought.

 

“Then why do you let me do this to you,” he asked, washcloth moving delicately over one closed eye.  His tone was even, curious; not a trace of how he felt on the subject, though you knew better. “If you prefer other things?”

 

You took a moment to answer, not because you didn't know per se, just contemplating how to gather this thing inside you into words.  He did not press, no doubt seeing the thoughtful furrow of your brow before moving to wash your other eye.

 

“It pleases you,” you eventually answered, the easiest point to make of all.  “And... I like how proud and possessive you get when I'm covered in you.”

 

A little smile curled at your lips again, a sigh escaping at the tender swipes of the cloth across your forehead and down your other cheek.  Your eyes finally opened, eyelashes heavy and damp from his work, looking up into his own sharp blue eyes. “And I enjoy the way you take care of me after.”

 

The expression on his face was worth more than any words in that moment, his thumb tracing reverently at the curve of your bottom lip.  It made you feel adored, like you were precious to him than all the fine things he owned. You couldn't help that flutter of excitement again, and you dared scrape your teeth at his thumb pad.  The playful little nip made his eyes darken even more, expression flashing hot before he tilted your chin up higher.

 

He seemed to be inspecting you now, checking for any spots he may have missed in the clean up.  When he was satisfied with what he found, Ivar sat the washcloth aside on his nightstand and cupped his large, warm hand at the crook of your neck, squeezing slightly.  “How are your shoulders and knees?”

 

“They're--”  You started to assure him you were completely alright, an old habit that was hard to kill.  But he fixed you with an appraising look, brow arched up, waiting for you to downplay whatever you were feeling.  It made you flush, you knew you couldn't lie to him. He knew you too well. 

 

Licking at your lips, you relented in a quiet voice.  “They do ache some. My thighs and neck, too.”

 

At this, Ivar smiled at you, enough it crinkled around his eyes.  Obviously happy that you admitted your discomfort to him, proud of how you endured for him.  And perhaps a little smug at having used you so well. It took little urging to lift you off your haunches, leaning down himself until your lips met in the middle in a slow, lingering kiss.

 

“Come up to the bed, my love,” he murmured at the corner of your mouth.  His strong hands slipped down to your elbows to help you stand on weak legs.  Kissed you quickly again before you used his shoulders to steady yourself. A wicked smirk pulled at his lips, eyes flashing with promise.  Greedy hands pulling you closer by the hips. “It is my turn to pleasure you.”


End file.
